


Dangers of Delinquency

by ColetheWolf



Series: Smutty Drabbles [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom!Stiles, Drug-Induced Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Prostate Massage, Sex Pollen, Unyielding prostate stimulation, top!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 19:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16165799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColetheWolf/pseuds/ColetheWolf
Summary: Stiles gets caught snooping through Peter's bedroom and gets taught a lesson.





	Dangers of Delinquency

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a drabble, even though it's fairly longer. But I find porny gifsets and use them for drabbles. I post them @ halesparked.tumblr.com.
> 
> Original post:
> 
>  
> 
> <https://halesparked.tumblr.com/post/178662593415/what-the-hell-are-you-doing-in-here-peter>

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Peter growled ferociously, eyeing the nonchalant way that Stiles closed the dresser drawer that he had just been caught rummaging through. 

Stiles shrugged innocently. “The party downstairs was boring, so I figured I’d explore Derek’s new house. There’s no need to get all bent out of shape. It wasn’t like I was up here stealing anything from you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Peter mocked. “I didn’t realize that the cure for common boredom was to snoop around through somebody’s personal belongings. The last time I checked, this was my bedroom. Yours is on the other side of the city in your father’s suburban home.”

“I mean, technically…this is Derek’s house, so technically this is also his bedroom.” Stiles explained. “He’s obviously letting you stay here because it would be too dangerous to let you freely roam around the city…considering your past.”

“My past?”

“Yeah, your past.” Stiles crossed his arms. “Hello, are you totally forgetting about the fact that you went on a psychotic murdering spree and turned my best friend into a werewolf? Yeah, if I were Derek, I’d keep you locked away from the rest of the world.”

A growl settled in Peter’s throat. “And yet, despite my rather colorful history of blood and brutality, you thought it was a smart idea to sneak away from my nephew’s housewarming party, break into my bedroom, and paw your miserable human hands through my things? That was a rather foolish and potentially fatal mistake, don’t you think?”

Stiles shifted around where he stood next to Peter’s wooden dresser, although his face didn’t appear to catalog even the faintest signs of worry. Peter was a master manipulator, but Stiles knew that Peter wouldn’t do anything. He couldn’t. Especially not with a party full of werewolves raging downstairs. If anything, Stiles would call out to Derek, or Scott, or somebody else, and Peter would probably land himself in a shallow grave for the second time in his life. 

“That’s funny. You’re trying to intimidate me.” Stiles snickered arrogantly, trailing his fingers against the smooth metal of one of the dresser’s silver handles. He locked eyes with Peter and tugged open another one of the drawers—peering down at the hidden contents. 

Peter snarled and jammed his foot backwards to kick the bedroom door closed with a loud slam. He then lunged forward and firmly grabbed onto Stiles’ wrist, pulling the boy away from the dresser. Peter shoved his palm into the center of Stiles’ chest —watching as the human toppled onto the messy sheets atop the bed’s mattress. 

“Back in my day, humans weren’t bold enough to purposely aggravate creatures that outmatched their strength ten-to-one.” Peter calmly explained, turning his back to where Stiles remained seated atop the bed —undoubtedly shocked, legs spread open, unsure as to what to do next. 

Stiles coughed, rubbing at where Peter had pushed against his chest. “You know, you really date yourself when you use phrases like, ‘back in my day’.”

Peter laughed dryly in response, rummaging through the dresser drawer that Stiles had elected to open. All the while, Stiles refused to stand up from where he had been pushed onto the bed. The situation was still unraveling and Stiles was just slightly curious as to what the fuck Peter was about to do. He was only partially worried that he’d end up stuffed under Peter’s bed with a slit throat. 

As Peter dug through the drawer, Stiles watched the way that Peter’s clothed back muscles tightened, flexed, and shifted around like the metal cogs in a clock whilst he tossed aside unwanted items from the drawer. Stiles also raked his eyes down Peter’s back, to his waist, and over the curve of the older werewolf’s ass that kept itself plump in the confines of dark denim. As time passed, Stiles grew more and more anxious, more curious about Peter’s actions, and more interested in what Peter would look like out of clothes.

“I’d say that your intuition is your biggest problem, Stiles.” Peter explained, swinging around with a small bottle in his hand. “Either you knew exactly what I had in this drawer — and you clumsily attempted to take it for yourself — or you stupidly dropped yourself into the lap of something you most definitely might regret.”

Stiles’ brows furrowed in confusion. He genuinely didn’t know what the hell Peter was talking about and didn’t recognize the bottle that was delicately held in the man’s rough hand. He hadn’t really slithered into Peter’s bedroom with any sort of legitimate trajectory—just a hope that he’d find something interesting to keep himself entertained. 

“You’re not as smart as you think you are.” Stiles laughed. “That’s probably just a bottle of cologne or something. And you really think you’re going to trick me into thinking it’s something scary…Jesus Christ, Derek’s left toe is more interesting than the dumb shit you make up.”

Peter didn’t reply, he simply grinned. He uncorked the small glass bottle and let a tiny drop of the simple transparent gel-like liquid drip onto the tip of his index finger. He then set the bottle down and walked over to where Stiles was still sitting on the mattress; slotting himself inappropriately in-between Stiles’ open legs. And before Stiles could object to anything that was happening, Peter jammed the gel-decorated finger into Stiles’ mouth. 

Stiles shoved Peter’s hand away —cringing at the foul taste of the liquid. He jumped up from where he was corned on the mattress by Peter and then pushed him out of the way, determined to leave the room and rejoin the party downstairs. After all, Peter was being his normal creepy self, trying to poison him or something. 

“Okay, I don’t know that kind of stupid shit you’re trying to pull, but if you just tried to poison me, I swear to fuck I’ll have your werewolf ass mounted above somebody’s fireplace!” Stiles shouted, reaching for the doorknob of the bedroom door. 

However, the moment Stiles’ hand touched down on the cold handle, he felt something strange. A surge of heat fluttered up his legs—making them quiver so intensely that he could barely keep himself standing on his own two feet. And then the heat seemed to penetrate his body, right into his ass, deeper than even his fingers or the handle of his hairbrush had ever reached. There was an unbearably uncomfortable ticklish itch that seemed to rage on inside of his hole—and the intensity only increased in waves.

“It wasn’t poison.” Peter confirmed, watching the human’s legs wobble unsteadily. “It was Cupid’s Dust.”

“What the—fuck—is that?” Stiles found it impossible to steady his words as his body shook violently. He was shivering, yet didn’t feel cold.

“They’re spores, and once they enter your body, they travel right down to your prostate — latching onto the devilish little pleasure center, before emitting thousands and thousands of tiny electrical bursts repeatedly, over and over and over again.” Peter explained, grabbing onto Stiles’ forearm. “It tricks your body into thinking that a cock is pounding against your prostate again and again.”

Peter carelessly tossed Stiles back onto the mattress and then watched with delight as Stiles’ body continued to pitch forward as though somebody was fucking into him. He watched as Stiles mindlessly undressed himself in desperation —kicking off his shoes, his pants, and his boxers, before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it down to the ground. 

Stiles spread himself onto his own back, legs involuntarily rising up into the air. It was like he wasn’t in control of his body. Peter, however, drank in the sight before him —savoring the flavor as if it were the finest wine ever created. He watched Stiles’ hole flutter open and close, begging for insertion. All whilst the humna’s lithe, sweaty body jolted around as though a ten inch pole was getting hammered into his tightness. 

“Oh - oh - god - oh my god…” Stiles sobbed, eyes wet with tears from the relentless stimulation. “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” 

The boy continued to babble, stuck on repeating the same phrases over and over again. But Peter loved the high pitched pleas for the spores to stop their assault as they spilled from Stiles’ mouth. He loved watching Stiles’ fully erect cock throb, untouched. And he especially loved how Stiles’ hairy legs stuck straight up towards the ceiling—vibrating in the emptiness of the air, just begging to be planted firmly on the shoulders of somebody generous enough to help stop the spores.

However, Peter was more than willing to help. The spores were obnoxious little bastards —practically unbeatable. The only way that they could be flushed out of somebody’s body was with somebody else’s fresh load of cum. It was the only remedy available and Peter wanted to help….he truly did. It pained him to watch Stiles writhe around in inescapable pleasure. 

Peter undressed himself slowly. He wasn’t in a rush. He watched Stiles’ hole stretch obscenely around a cock that wasn’t even there—taking the moment to peer into the flushed redness of Stiles’ body. He stopped halfway through pulling off one of his socks just to close his eyes and breathe in the delicious aroma of Stiles’ lustful sweat. And after a few minutes, he finished taking off the rest of his clothes—taking even more time to neatly fold them and store them back into his dresser. 

“How do you feel, Stiles?”

Stiles choked up into hysterics —caught between a mindlessly fucked out giggle and desperate sob from the pins and needles that refused to stop prickling themselves across the surface of his prostate. And yet, Stiles seemed to spread open his legs just a tad bit wider, shift his body down closer to the edge of the mattress, and lock the lifeless hazel of his eyes onto the unfeeling blue of Peter’s. 

Peter slotted himself in-between Stiles’ spread legs for the second time, prodding the fat head of his thick, leaking cock against Stiles’ hole. He played there for a painstakingly long amount of time, only ever letting the head of his cock barely breach the wetness of Stiles’ flushed entrance. He continued to do it because he loved the hiccuped sob that Stiles let out each and every time that it happened. 

“Peter.” Stiles breathed, reaching out with his hands to grab onto Peter’s body.

Peter grinned and then shoved himself completely into Stiles’ body —immediately setting an unforgivably brutal pace. The sudden intrusion ripped an impossibly loud scream out of Stiles’ throat. A clueless listener would have surely arrived at the conclusion that somebody had just gotten themselves branded with hot iron. 

And in a way, Stiles somewhat did. After all, nobody forgot an encounter with Cupid’s Dust. Stiles most definitely wouldn’t. The heat of all that pleasure would forever remain scorched into his memory and branded into the depths of his body. But still, the raspy scream of pleasure was far too loud, so Peter placed one of his hands over the boy’s rosy lips. 

Peter dug himself as deep as he could into Stiles’ body, watching his incredible length spear past Stiles’ fluttering entrance. He was practically addicted to the way that Stiles’ heat welcomed him in and clenched tight around his girth —almost as if Stiles wouldn’t be able to mentally deal with the loss of physical penetration. 

“D—don’t - stop.” Stiles begged, clasping one of his hands around his own leaking cock. 

Peter gripped hard onto both of Stiles’ ankles, anchoring himself to the boy with a promise of delivering sweet release from the spores’ torture. Peter increased the speed of his thrusts, letting his pelvis beat bruises into the splayed open thighs of the boy under his mercy—surprising himself at just how much more speed he was able to tack onto his pre-existing rhythm. However, he was certain that Stiles, despite being a human, could handle some werewolf strength getting fucked into him. 

As he continued to pound into Stiles’ abused prostate, Peter beamed down into the empty void of Stiles’ exhausted eyes, connecting their bodies and their souls. He watched the way that Stiles’ body jolted and twitched and twisted around, leading up to the way that Stiles’ mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he sent himself toppling over the edge to completion —polluting the unmarked expanse of his pale, sweaty abdomen with a hydrant’s equivalent of hot cum. 

Peter shoved himself as far as he could manage into Stiles’ body —graciously presenting the boy with the remedy that he had been desperate to receive. Peter felt Stiles’ body clench down tight around his pulsating cock whilst he felt himself empty his balls directly against Stiles’ prostate. And with each pressured burst of his cum, Peter felt Stiles’ body slowly begin to stop vibrating uncontrollably as the Cupid’s Dust lost its power. 

The fun was over.

Stiles panted breathlessly, letting his body attempt to settle back into some sort of peaceful normalcy. He combed through his sweaty hair with his cum-coated fingers, ignoring the sticky cum that had pooled lewdly in the ridges of his abdomen. He then closed his eyes and let his body come down from where it had been held so high for so long—finding immense peace in the feeling of Peter’s load sloshing around inside of his body.

“Lesson learned…” Stiles confirmed drowsily.


End file.
